


Windows to the Soul

by cirne, growflet, inurashii



Category: Generation 4, No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Coming of Age, Superheroes, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 03:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirne/pseuds/cirne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/growflet/pseuds/growflet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/inurashii/pseuds/inurashii
Summary: Michael Reed is a lonely depressed boy.  He has no real direction in life, and suffers from regular panic attacks that happen for no clear reason - he constantly wonders what is wrong with him.Until one day he makes eye contact with a superhero, and his life changes forever.This is a story of a self discovery, found family, adventure, and love.





	1. Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in Generation Four - A collaborative fiction project, subverting and transforming existing superhero narratives. Generation Four’s plots focus on themes such as societal marginalization, everyday life, and queer romance, all while still retaining the world-shaking threats and high adventure of the comic book pages from which they sprang.

**WEST BLOOMFIELD TOWNSHIP**  
**1 YEAR AGO THIS WEEK**

  


Michael sat in his car, idling in the cul de sac of his childhood home, the place where he’d spent—wasted?—the most formative years of his life. A few kids waddled in a clumsy chase through the yards, bundled against the cold and complaining about the snowfalls they hadn’t gotten. He observed them as he’d observed the neighborhood kids when he was younger, always watching but never quite comfortable with their attention.

  


He would look out of the window of his parents’ living room just like he looked out the car window now, watching the roster and pecking order of the neighborhood kids change. The only one whose full name he remembered was Track Taylor, the self-appointed kingpin of the little group, always issuing orders that ultimately got ignored. There was the Van der Waals kid, the sporty girl with a sporty boy’s name who died in an accident a couple of years ago. There was Eli, the blond-haired boy who was quiet like Michael but at least had the courage to play with the others.

  


Now, here he was, years later, at the end of the two-hour-and-change drive from Grand Rapids. The Reeds had approved of Michael’s choice to pursue psychology at Calvin College, and at first he was grateful for the distance, eager to immerse himself in a place more diverse in race and class, with more culture than the enclaves of West Bloomfield.

  


But now it all just felt like more empty space, and Michael was a confused ghost walking among the living out there. Here, there was familiarity, at least, even if it was a cold and unwelcoming one.

  


On the other side of the circle, the Taylor house had its curtains open, revealing the whole family decorating their huge Christmas tree, laughing and talking. There was a blond-haired girl there, looking a little nervous but happy. Track’s girlfriend, maybe? Two houses over, a young woman in a long blue coat and a slouchy gray toque trudged up the walkway to the Van der Waals’ house.

  


He looked back. Light shone through the curtains in his childhood home. His parents were waiting, but he didn’t want to go. Instead he focused for a few moments on the anime soundtrack playing through the stereo of his car and closed his watercolor blue eyes. 

  


… _Onaji kuni ni umareta no mirakuru romansu …_  
  
He knew that he should get going. It would look strange if he sat idling in the driveway forever.  It would attract attention. He really didn’t want that, but he was _so_ not looking forward to actually going inside. Being grilled by his parents, being judged. It was the same every time.  He was never good enough. The Sailor Moon theme finished, and he decided to listen to one more song before going in. Upbeat sounds of drums and guitars filled the car.

  


_Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku … Zettai Unmei Mokushiroku …_

  


The boy stared blankly at the stereo thinking just exactly how appropriate “Absolute Destiny Apocalypse” was right now.  He muttered to himself with resignation “Well, time to do the thing.” and stepped outside of the car, pulling the tattered grey hoodie up over his disheveled brown hair to guard against the chilly December air.

  


As he came closer to the door, his heart began to race. The anxiety and dread were growing in his stomach and increased in intensity with each step. Michael took cold comfort in the fact that there was an explanation for the sudden onset of emotion. There was an explanation, it wasn’t a panic attack this time.  
  
It was only a few more steps, but the conflict inside became overwhelming.  He was not ready to see his Father yet. No, he’d take that stroll first, for the memories, and to clear his head.    
  


No one in the Taylor’s house had seemed to notice him, as he strolled around the cul de sac he turned toward the Van Der Waals’s to see if that woman had gone inside yet.. She had not… He bit his lower lip and waited anxiously for her to leave, or go inside, or _something._  Interacting with people was always a thing best avoided.

  


Why was she hesitating? Maybe she was afraid of coming home, too. He certainly understood that. Finally, the girl in the coat raised her hand and pushed the doorbell. A few moments later, the door cracked open and Michael could just barely see Mrs. Van der Waals’s face for a second before the door slammed shut.

  


The visitor put her palms flat on the door and called inside, but Michael couldn’t hear what she was saying through the window and distance.     
  
Anxiety began to shift into sympathy. He knew how it felt to have parents that rejected you, but that was particularly extreme. He pushed away his fear of interacting with people, and decided to investigate.

  


Sinking back into his hoodie, the boy slowly strolled in the direction of the scene that was unfolding on the opposite side of the street, lingering a bit as he passed behind each of the trees along the way trying to find a vantage point that would allow him to see what was going on while not attracting the attention of the girl and the Van Der Waals.

  


Rounding the corner of a particularly large oak, Michael saw that Mrs. Van Der Waals had opened the door and was yelling at the visitor, rage evident in her face. 

  


“Blasphemer!” she shouted. “Skin-rider! How _dare_ you mock the memory of my daughter!”

  


“Mom, _please,”_ the visitor pleaded, whipping off her toque to reveal long, glossy, gorgeous black hair. “This is… I’m _me_ , or I might as well be!”

  


Michael started, shock jarring him out of his introspection. That girl looked exactly like the one who’d died, whom Michael had seen lie still in a coffin, be lowered into the earth. What was her name? Blake. Blake Van der Waals, right. The sporty girl with the boy’s name. Her death had really shaken up the community.

  


“I buried my daughter,” Mrs. Van der Waals hissed, tears in her eyes, “and if you don’t leave, I will bury _you._ ”

  


“I…” Tiny, blue sparks danced up and down the visitor’s arms. The woman at the door didn’t seem to notice, but Michael did.

  


Michael’s eyes went wide, a paranormal in this neighborhood. No one here really liked paras, but his father and the Van Der Waals were the most vocal about it. He understood that his dad was always a bit over the top about these sorts of things, but didn’t the best lies have elements of truth?  He shuddered as he recalled the stories of The Pariah, the monstrous paranormal that roamed Detroit attacking people. At least this para seemed to want to be heard, rather than eating people or carving scars into their foreheads.  
  
Was this person actually Blake? She was desperately pleading to be accepted as a daughter of the Van Der Waals. Her emotion looked real, and it felt familiar. It made little sense to him as to why someone would even try to fake that.  
  
Any remaining anxiety was replaced with intense curiosity, and he made the decision to find out what was going on. He leaned out from behind the oak to get a clearer view and maybe even hear something more.  
  


“Can we just… talk, mom?” The Blake-shaped person took a hesitant step back toward the door.

  


“Do not call me that again.”

  


“Fine, just, if you can just talk to me for a little bit—”

  


**Blam!!**

  


Michael flinched at the sudden, deafening report. Everyone in the Taylor household froze in place, eyes wide.

  


Standing next to Mrs. Van der Waals was her husband, arm extended and a smoking pistol held in it.

  


“Wh…” the stunned girl in the blue coat took a falling step backward. “Dad…”

  


**Blam! Blam! Blam!** Several more bullets struck the asphalt behind the visitor, who flinched but didn’t seem to be harmed at all.

  


“Stop!” The visitor seemed to be crying, and stumbled back with her hands raised defensively. “Please, please stop!”

  


“Freak!” Mr. Van der Waals shouted. “Get in the house, Marcie, bullets aren’t hurting it!”

  


The invulnerable image of Blake Van der Waals turned and ran, straight in the direction of Michael’s tree.      
  
He stood there in stunned silence at the violence that had unfolded before him. The Van Der Waals were mean people, but this…  How could someone do that? This para wasn’t hurting anyone, it seemed like she just wanted to talk.  
  
Sure it would be traumatic to see someone who looked like your dead daughter again. But trying to kill them? He stared transfixed at the Blake-shaped person that was now heading straight for him. Was this really her? Maybe she.. what was the word.. Emerged… and they faked her death? Clearly her parents knew something of these powers. They called her a skin-rider.

  


He noticed the tears on Blake’s cheeks and felt pity. It was obvious that this person cared about what Mr. and Mrs Van Der Waals thought of her. He understood that feeling all too well. He knew what it was like to be rejected and not accepted by one’s parents, for some reason this _whole situation resonated_.  Except for the murder part of course. 

  


Forgetting about what others in the neighborhood might think if he were seen helping a para, he threw caution to the wind.  The boy stepped out from behind the tree and addressed the girl as she approached, voice filled with concern: “Are you okay?  Do you need help?”. He began to motion for her to go behind the tree for safety. He started to think about why this was silly, due to her invulnerability, when they made eye contact.

  


When her eyes met his, they _glowed._ There was a pale blue light emanating from her pupils and irises, drowning out the deep brown that they’d been only moments ago.

  


And then she gasped and sparked, and Michael’s stomach _lurched_ as his hesitant anxiety was washed away by the feeling of a terrible, impossible loss, of shame and helplessness. Of _rejection._

  


She reached toward him, eyes aglow.  He retracted his outstretched hand and any curiosity he could have had about those sparks and luminous eyes was gone before it ever registered in his mind.    
  
In an instant Michael’s expression went from one of utter concern to one of utter despair, his lips had twisted in sadness and they trembled, his eyes welled with tears that streamed down his cheeks and formed pools upon his shapeless winter coat.

  


The boy wanted nothing more right then than to curl up into a small ball and hide where no one would ever find him again.  He was familiar with depression and had felt like this before, but nowhere near as strongly nor as suddenly.  
  


He stumbled a moment and he fell against the tree for support, letting his backpack fall to the ground as he watched this black haired lady extend her hand in his direction. 

  


“nnn…not again..not..n-now..”.      
  
He stopped speaking, knowing that she would not understand.  It was another one of these mysterious attacks, and it didn’t matter. It _was hopeless._ These attacks would always happen, and there was nothing anyone could ever do about it. It didn’t matter what else was going on in his life. It didn’t matter that this person needed his help. It didn’t matter that there were people firing guns.  He was a broken little boy. That’s all he ever would be. His stomach lurched again. These things would always happen at the worst times. The boy glanced toward his house down the street.His parents would never love _him_ , they _rejected_ who he was, and would only ever love the idea of what they thought he should be.  

  


Michael stammered pathetically, “I’m.  s… sorry… so… sss...sorry... I c-can’t help you anymore...”

  


Moments later, he felt an arm encircle his waist and a strong _hoist_ and suddenly the ground wasn’t below him any more. He sailed through the air, watching a trail of blue light form behind him as the strange lightning-girl carried him away.

  


Several long seconds later, they landed in a wooded section of park where they’d both once played years ago.

  


“I’m sorry,” the Blake-phantom said, pulling back and painting him with concerned eyes. “I was worried that—I was worried. Are you all right?”

  


Once they had landed, the boy detached from the Blake-phantom and recoiled into a little ball on the ground a few feet from her, still staring in disbelief.  
  
It was hard to process it all. The sadness, the despair, the fight, the flight, a para was helping him?  This was too much.  
  
“N.. no.. I’m just so confused… I d-don’t understand,” he stammered, “why you would help me? Why did you take me here? Who are you? Are you r-really Blake?”

  


“I’m…” She sighed. “I’m Blake, but… but Blake’s not _me,_ if that makes any sense. And I know it doesn’t.”

  


The girl rose to her full height and began to pace, little arcs of blue electricity still dancing gently over her body. “I… don’t know why I took you away. I just got so worried about you all of a sudden, and I kept thinking about dad and his gun, and realized that if they shot at me, it’d hit… you…”

  


Michael’s breathing slowed a bit, and he smiled at the kind words. She was _worried about him_. That was new. His hands, however, were still trembling as he began to fumble for a metal pill canister on attached to his keychain. His current lack of dexterity was making it difficult to unscrew the cap. He stammered, holding back sniffles and sobs as he spoke.     
  
“I.. I… I don’t understand what’s g-going on..  But t-thank you.. It w-was very kind of you.. I’m really s-sorry to have been a bother.”  
  
He finally got the cap off of the canister and took three small white pills out and placed them under his tongue. He continued to speak, his speech impaired by the dissolving pills.    
  
“I… I just wanted to help you. The Van Der Waals were being so awful… It wasn’t right... and then I had this attack. I’m ssss-sorry.”  
  
He looked up at her and rocked back in forth in place, his unconscious self-soothing behavior.

  


“Sorry…” he said again.  He even felt sorry for apologizing so much, remembering his father’s words “A man shouldn’t apologize when he has done nothing wrong!”.  His stomach twisted with discomfort. He couldn’t even get that right.

  


“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Blake said, crouching down to place a light hand on his shoulder. The blue arcs died down a little. “ _I’m_ sorry, for getting you caught up in my awful family stuff. You’re… Reed, right? The Reed kid. We both grew up here.”

  


He stopped himself from flinching as Blake placed her hand on his shoulder.

  


“Yeah… I’m… um… Mic.....”  he trailed off and finished the name unintelligibly, then spoke up a moment later “Yeah. that’s me”. He tilted his head sideways and stared at her shoulder for a few moments, subconsciously avoiding eye contact. “But you died? I remember that. I saw the funeral. Did they fake your death or something?” he sat up and asked with a bit more confidence - wiping the tears from his cheeks.

  


“My… my body died,” Blake said quietly, keeping her gaze averted. “But my consciousness survived. Um, what’s your name?”

  


“S-Sorry” he spluttered again, more clearly this time. “I’m Michael Reed..” he bit his lower lip for a moment and entire demeanor sank as the words came out. His eyes were firmly affixed the ground now, his expression went somber as he let out a sigh. “I was just coming home for Christmas and this happened.” He had stopped rocking at this point, but still had a general air of gloominess about him. “S-so, you are a para then. I guess that’s why they called you a skin-rider or whatever..”     
  


His eyes widened for a moment with the realization…  
  
“Oh no! most folks here hate you people! They are probably going to think that you kidnapped me or something.. Nononono!  this can’t be good. This is _my fault_ too!”  
  
His gloom deepened, this nice person helped him and will probably be punished for her trouble.  He retreated further into his coat.  
  
“R-really sorry, maybe I can explain to the police when they come.” he whimpered sheepishly.

  


“It’s okay.” Blake stood, giving him a soft smile and taking a step back. “Don’t worry about me. You can still go have a nice Christmas with your family, okay? I’ll just… go, and it’ll all be okay.”

  


Hearing those words Michael sat up suddenly and exclaimed “No!” with a hint of desperation.   He was not quite sure why he had had that strong of a reaction. He composed himself and started over “I.. I mean, you don’t have to go… if you don’t want to.”     
  
He stole a quick glance at Blake before bringing his eyes back to the ground once again, speaking as if he were addressing the brown grass.     
  
“I’m not sure that ‘nice’ is even something a Christmas _can be_ at my house anyway. You’ve been nicer to me in the five minutes I have known you than most people here ever have.”

  


Her face fell. “You… don’t feel comfortable with your family, huh?”

  


He nodded, expression still dour, “More like they don’t feel comfortable with me. I’ll never be what they want me to be..”

  


She was quiet for a few moments.

  


“How do you feel about _yourself_ , though?”

  


His face formed a puzzled expression as he thought. “I… I.. just want to know what’s wrong with me.. And why this happens.” he frowned again gesturing at himself. “I guess I don’t like me very much. No one knows what’s wrong and my parents are always disappointed, and Dad always says....” he paused for half a second interrupting that train of thought “sorry... you asked how I feel about myself.. No one ever asks that.” He felt the dark mood finally starting to break, he wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite make that happen yet. “Thank you for asking though.”

  


Blake took in a long breath, then let it out slowly. “By… ‘this’, do you mean your panic attacks?”

  


He nodded, picking up a twig and started absentmindedly drawing designs in the dirt as he spoke. “I guess.” he twisted his mouth a bit as he thought  “but, they aren’t like panic attacks are supposed to be. No one knows what they are. I’ve had “Happiness attacks, sudden attacks of anger, I guess that was a hopelessness attack.. Or something....”  he trailed off and finished the sentence quietly “Is that even a thing?”

  


This elicited a frown from the girl. “How… were you feeling right before the panic attack hit?”

  


“I… I wanted to help you…”  he began quickly with a bit of excitement in his voice “you looked so sad, they were being so awful, and they had just tried to kill you! I had to do something!”  

  


“Michael, are you… a para?”

  


He was startled by the very suggestion of this, breaking the twig in half in his hand. “Oh no.  nononono” he shook his head immediately in denial. “I’m j-just broken, that’s all” he fidgeted with the broken twig in a futile attempt to put it back together . “Me? A para?” he snorted sarcastically “That would be the disappointment icing on the whole disappointment cake that is my life. Yeah. My parents would loooooove that.”

  


Blake frowned. “That’s their problem. If you have a paranormal ability, that doesn’t make you any less of a person, okay? N-no matter what your _parents_ think.”

  


His eyes narrowed, confusion evident on his face. “What kind of paranormal power would that _even be_ though?” He made flourishing gestures in the air to emphasize his sarcastic tone “Congratulations! Your paranormal ability is you get cripplingly intense emotions at random times! And there’s NOTHING you or _anyone_ can do about it!” he placed his hands back in his lap his entire demeanor sinking.     
  
“Well, if this is a paranormal ability it certainly is fitting. Leave it to me to get a one that is not only useless, it’s more like a curse” he stared at the broken twig fragments in his hand.

  


“Michael, we _switched,”_ she said, “like, when you looked into my eyes you started feeling how I was feeling right as I got that overwhelming feeling of concern. And my… I felt a memetic effect that I didn't recognize. I think you might really be paranormal.”

  


Blake straightened as she heard the sound of shouting from nearby. She exhaled sharply and spoke to him in a quick murmur. “You're not going to be safe while I'm with you. I should go, but… look me up if you want, okay? My new last name is Vandergrath, okay? Blake Vandergrath.”

  


Michael had so many questions. “Memetic?... W-we switched?”, he said in a panic. She was going to go, he had to get it all out quickly and spluttered a torrent of words unable to organize his thoughts.  “But!... I don’t understand.. I can’t be… What will I do...”  
  
His confusion was interrupted by another shout, closer this time.  He turned to Blake and spoke, this time softly with appreciation in his voice. “t-thank you. You should go…. You should go somewhere safe..” his expression dropped “they come after people like y.....” and trailed off.  
  
His eyes narrowed and glanced up toward Blake. “You.. you really think so?”

  


“Yeah. I do.” She clasped his hand with both of hers. “Things can be better, I promise. If you reach out to me, I'll reach back.”

  


She stepped back. For a moment, her knee-length coat fluttered in the still winter air, she glowed a faint blue. Then she snapped her fingers and vanished in a huge blue arc that made almost no noise. 

  


Michael watched Blake disappear into thin air with wonder. “People like…. _you_?”     
  


The walk back to the cul de sac was externally uneventful, internally his mind was wild with thought. So many possibilities. Was Blake right? Did he have a paranormal ability? He thought of Mr Van Der Waals firing the gun. This could explain everything, but what if his parents found out? He’d be homeless or worse. 

  


After he walked a tiny bit more, an idea came to him. He slowed his pace, focusing upon all those self-loathing thoughts from earlier. How he was a perpetual disappointment to his parents. How often they had called him a failure. His loneliness. His hopelessness. His entire waste of a childhood. He brought image after image to his mind. By the time he reached his house tears were streaming down his cheeks once more.  
  
Slowly he entered the code to the front door with a shaking hand and went inside.    
As he stepped into the living room the boy looked _directly_ _into his father’s eyes_. “Heya Dad.”

  



	2. Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Reed deals with the aftermath of his actions, makes a new friend, and learns things about himself.

**WEST BLOOMFIELD TOWNSHIP**  
**THE DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS, ONE YEAR AGO**

  


Michael sat in his old room and stared at the unfamiliar furniture. Any trace that he had ever been in this room before yesterday — the room that he had spent 99% of his childhood — had been completely eradicated and replaced with some bedroom plucked from the pages of a designer website that his mother was obsessed with that week.  
  


As Christmases went in the Reed household, it could have been worse

  


Looking his father in the eye had _seemed_ like a good idea at the time. After everything he had been subjected to for his entire life, giving his old man a taste of what he had felt over all these years felt _right_. It felt _just_. But he should have known that the old man would just hurl all that pain right at him  the next day because Michael was obviously the _source_ of the problem. Obviously.  
  
He let out a long, drawn out sigh.     
  
The lecture he got from his mother was one for the history books. He was a complete and total disappointment as a child.  
  
Apparently, it was his failures had made his own father - Mr. Michael Theodore “real men don’t cry” Reed Jr., the powerful money man for The Family — Detroit's mob —, the man who constantly talked about strength, talked about never showing emotions lest they reveal a weakness, this man broke down into a sobbing puddle once he laid eyes upon this disappointing offspring who had dared show his face in this house. 

  


The next few days were filled with unexpected extremes. He did not expect to be told that he had ruined Christmas for merely showing up. He didn’t expect to be put “on probation by his parents”, nor did he expect to have monitoring software installed on his phone. His own mother, normally the kind one, _actually yelled at him_. His other relatives, Uncle Aaron and Cousin Emily were told that they should not visit.  
  
Then there was being questioned by the police. Police questioning is not normally a Christmas thing.  

  


The thing he did not expect the most was his own reaction to all of these things.  
  


He sat there on the bed in the middle of the perfect layout of designer pillows that he dare not reposition, and thought about the situation… And he _smiled._  
  
**Worth.  It.**  
  


Michael bounced a bit on the bed with a grin on his face.  A++++ 10/10 would do again! He snapped his fingers in the air dramatically as he thought about this grand success.

  


For the first time, he had actual answers. He had a hypothesis, he tested it, and the theory was confirmed. He was now para scum. He wasn’t quite sure why The Family had gone all in with Jorja Stephenson’s anti-paranormal group, but he was now one of those that his own Family would take out back and shoot him like the subhuman he was.  
  
His stomach turned a little bit as he thought about that, but he pushed that down. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing after all. Best not to dwell on what that means.  
  
The fights with his parents were draining. If it got to be too much, all he had to do was look them in the eye. As Blake said, he would _trade emotions_. His parent’s emotion would be replaced with whatever emotion he was having and vice versa. This was usually trading up from his perspective. They were angry and yelling, now they felt defeated, or sad, or upset, or whatever. And suddenly he was the angry one. It was really hard to contain the anger when he took it, he did punch the table once and had been sent to his room. His hand still has bruises.  
  
He looked at the bruises on the hand remembering the level of anger and felt a strange sensation in his gut. Being physical like that really bothered him. _Really bothered him._ He didn’t like this at all. But it was a short term thing and much better than the alternative.  Maybe?  
  


The Blake incident was draining as well. The police investigation that followed was super intense. He was questioned for literal hours on both Christmas Eve _and_ Christmas. He figured out that the police were totally in The Family’s pocket almost immediately. They used so many leading questions. It was obvious what they really wanted him accuse Blake of starting a lethal fight that has caused Mr. Van Der Waals to act in self defense. Michael, however, had taken cognitive psychology classes. He saw this for what it was. “Leading Questions and the Eyewitness Report” was even one of the few assignments he had actually done. There was no class on it, it was just an assignment sent via e-mail when the professor was out that week. Why couldn’t they all be like that?  
  
He hoped that he had deflected the police well enough. He stuck to his guns and told them he didn’t remember anything. He saw a blue flash, heard a number of gunshots, but the rest of the day was a blank. The official story will probably say Blake started it. He really hoped that they wouldn’t mention him at all.  
  
The police in places like this come after people like her… people like us. He mentally chewed on that thought for awhile.  It was unsettling, but comforting at the same time. He finally knew what was wrong with him. So many things in his life made much more sense now.  
  
The thought of contacting Blake crossed his mind. He wasn’t yet sure what to say, but maybe a heads up about the police investigation would be a good idea. He really didn’t want her to think that _he_ had turned on her to the police. He didn’t even know how to contact her.  

  


Michael opened his laptop and began to close a few of the hundred tabs he had open on his web browser.     
  
\- The Pariah - closed  
\- Tests for paranormal abilities - closed  
\- What are memetics. - closed  
\- Getting rid of paranormal abilities - closed  
\- What are nulls - closed  
\- Defeating tests for paranormal abilities - closed  
\- Grand Rapids Apartments - closed  
\- Grand Rapids Jobs -  
  
If his parents are going to disown him, he’ll need to find a job. Not one with _people_ but..  
  
He glanced at the want ads. Some little LGBTQ club called the Faerie Glen wants a janitor. That’d make his dad so very proud. He started to close the tab, but it was intriguing.  He bookmarked it. Not that he had a chance for a job like that. Those go quick. But with a job like that surrounded by happy pe….  
  
His thought was interrupted as his heart sank. Whenever he was feeling down, he’d order food from Jade Garden - the schezwan place down the street.  The one with the friendly delivery lady. A single tear rolled down his cheek.  
  
What have I done? he thought, guilt swelling inside him, followed by anxiety. He’s been cursing these poor people.Giving them his depression and stealing their happiness.  And the performers the Arts Festival. And the sweet guy at The Roasted Bean.  
  


“No! nonono!” the boy exclaimed in distress as he stood up, and he dropped the laptop on the bed. He began to spiral, thoughts went rapid-fire though his head. No, it was an accident, he did not do this on purpose.  It wasn’t his fault.. Breathe.. He fumbled for the pill bottle attached to his keychain, and stopped himself.  
   
No. this is not an attack. He took in a deep breath. Deep guilt burned within him,  I need to make it up to these people he thought to himself. And there’s nothing I can do about this right now. He sat down and opened a new tab on his browser. He made a spreadsheet.     
“List of People I have Harmed”  
  
He filled in a few names, Benjamin the cute delivery boy from Knight’s Pizza. Tan the sweet delivery girl from Jade Garden. He spent over an hour typing names and descriptions into his guilt list. He still felt guilty, of course, but having a plan to make things better was calming.  
  
He continued putting any name in that he could have possibly thought of until his eyes ached from staring at the spreadsheet’s grid lines.  
  
He looked at the length of the list and let out a long sigh. The weight of the work he had to do weighed heavily on his heart. He closed his laptop and wandered over to the window.   He looked out at the other houses.  
  
He needed to figure out how to better control these powers. He had a name, Blake Vandergrath. Does she have twitter or something?    
  
He opened his computer and began to search. The results were… shocking. The very first result for Blake's new name was a viral video labeled ‘The Untouchable Electric Eye beats a troll’. In it, Blake was threatened by a hulking Paranormal and promptly subdued him with bolts of blue lightning.

  


Results after that were less sensational but more informative. She’d been a Freelancer, but quit publicly, citing human rights violations in the Social Rehabilitation Program. Now she was… an intern for the Young Spartans, a team of sexy former sidekicks famous enough that Michael actually knew about them. 

  


And she had a twitter account. @Blake_VDG. Michael’s eyes brightened when he saw her account and immediately followed her. He watched the video several times before switching to the pictures of the Young Spartans.. Sexy young superheroes were not something he was allowed to look at in this house. He didn’t care though, he could make something up about the experience a few days ago and browsed a bit longer in fascination.  

  


@BrainLantern04 followed @Blake_VDG

He began to type out a message to her when the realization dawned upon him that he had just been questioned by the police for at least six hours about this woman. He quickly unfollowed her hoping that this no one would have noticed.   

  


He needed a new twitter account. His eyes drifted upward as he began to think of a new handle for this. He knew that all the good handles were taken, and he knew that this should not be connected to anything in real life. It had to be a secret yet identifiable. He also worried that his parents might have installed monitoring software on the home network.

  


He grabbed his new phone, it was a Christmas gift and new out of the box, and began to try to come up with an account.

  


Enter your name, he thought for a few moments and thought about his ability. Emotional Transference. That actually sounded pretty cool. Really cool actually.  
  
The app then suggested usernames. The first one had numbers at the end - that was annoying would just not do, the good ones were all taken.

Emo_Transference. Taken. Also not emo. 

Emo_X.  Taken.

Emotional_Transfer -- 15 character limit.   

Emotnl_Transfer - still a bit long…    
  
He tried with a few more permutations before settling on one that wasn’t as bad as the others.    He could always change it later. All that was left was a picture.. His mind went to anime characters with psychic or empathic powers.  
  
A psychic, involuntary, recluse as a kid, wrecks people….  PERFECT! He bounced on the bed as he tapped on the screen of the new phone searching for appropriate images.   It didn’t matter too much, he’d be able to change it later.  
  
His cheeks turn the bright red as he looked at his new twitter account.  
He didn’t know why, but this felt...   _Right..._  
  


  


He sent @Blake_VDG a follow request, and then sent her a tweet. Surprisingly, she responded within the hour. Friendly, warm, perhaps a little evasive. And then, a peculiar offer:

  
  


He was incredibly curious about this new person and began to fiddle with the plastic clover attached to his keychain, it was old and a few of the gems had fallen off and been glued back on. What did Eli say? “A four leaf clover to bring.. Luck?” No.. not luck..  happiness”  
  
He hoped that happiness was exactly what that clover would bring.

  


As Christmases went in the Reed household, it could have been worse, yet it was still the Best Christmas Ever.

* * *

**Frederik Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, Grand Rapids**  
  


The crowds weren’t _too_ bad, he guessed. This particular tree-lighting ceremony was being held publicly, as opposed to Meijer’s typical bougie members-only holiday events. This was in part because they had a special guest whose appearance hinged on the ceremony being open to everyone and free.

  


That guest? The local Hero of Grand Rapids, known as The Dualist. She (he? News surrounding the Dualist seemed to be inconsistent about this person’s gender) was due to arrive any moment.

  


Michael hung at the outskirts of the event, he was nervous and on edge, but holding together well, considering the situation.   Crowds had always really bad in the past.  
  
Everything about Michael whispered “don’t look at me.” The tattered sweatpants, the old grey Calvin College hoodie pulled up over his head, and his big old black puffy coat. He looked like every other college student in the world. Anonymous.      
  
But he was trying. He knew that he needed to be seen this time. Blending and being inconspicuous was something that he had learned to do subconsciously. It was hard to break that habit. He wandered on the edge of the crowd and twirled his keychain on the end of his finger while trying to be careful to not look at anyone directly, quick glances upward and then back to the ground.  Avoiding eye contact with anyone.nervously fidgeting with his keychain. No one had approached him yet. Maybe Blake’s friend wasn’t here after all?

  


There was a commotion towards the middle of the crowd, and Michael saw a figure stepping up onto a raised platform, a young woman who was clearly, even at a glance, the guest of honor. The Dualist wore a long, sleeveless green coat over a blousy white shirt, with gloves that reached up to her elbows and boots that came up to her knees. Her curly brown hair was loose, framing an olive-toned face that at this moment looked a bit uncertain as she fiddled with the microphone in her hands.

  


Michael wondered if The Dualist was Blake’s mystery friend. They were both heroes after all.  He brought up twitter on his phone and started to look at Blake’s followers as he listened to the hero speak. What was her real name again?   

  


A moment later there was a crackle from the speakers, followed by a soft alto voice saying, “Is this… oh!”

  


A quick search revealed her name to be either Amy or Zach Zacharias. There were pictures of both male and female people as The Dualist. Glancing up at the pretty lady speaking awkwardly the stage, he tilted his head with an expression of confusion. That must be her… his.. Power. A type of shapeshifting of some sort. It sparked a bit of curiosity in the boy and a puzzlement. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to be a boy if they were a girl. He wondered if this person had as little control over their power as he did over his own.

  


Amy smiled and looked out at the crowd, and when she spoke again, her voice had something about it, a more resonant quality, somehow… heroic. “Hi, everyone! I think most of you know me, I’m The Dualist.”

  


Focusing his attention back onto his phone he frowned in disappointment when he discovered Blake had not yet followed him back. Perhaps that was for the best, with the recent police questioning. He continued to scan through her followers and did not find Amy or a Zach there.  Hmmm. Oh, the reverse. The Dualist was following Blake but Blake was not following… her? 

  


There was a smattering of applause and the Hero looked briefly surprised, fumbling for words slightly as the response died down. “Yes! Um. I’d like to thank Meijer for inviting me, and for opening these beautiful gardens to Grand Rapids today. On behalf of myself and the Infinity Legion, I’d like to wish you all a happy and safe holiday season and new year. Thank you!”

  


She smiled and glanced towards someone who was just off the platform, and the large tree behind her lit up with a gorgeous yet tasteful array of lights, somewhat less ostentatious than the competitive, gaudy decorations of Michael’s hometown. The Dualist looked up at the tree and smiled, and a few flashbulbs went off, and then she stepped down from the platform and was hidden behind a crush of handshakes and people who were, almost certainly, Very Important.

  


Distractedly Michael moved through the crowd, “probably not her” he mumbled once more with a hint of disappointment at the assumption that this was not the person he was meeting.  Not that he could get to her anyway in that crowd of people. His disappointment was interrupted as a realization came, however, “OH!” He gasped “DUAList” he got it and -- approved of the pun, giggling as he continued to walk almost bumping into a grumpy bystander.    
  


“Hmph.”

  


Michael turned to see a sour-faced young woman glaring at the knot of people gathered around the Dualist. Her face was mostly obscured by a hand-knit scarf, matching hat, and messy white-girl dreads, but her freckle-dusted face and scowling green eyes peeked through.

  


“Careless,” the girl muttered.

  


He was unaware that the woman was not talking to him, and he apologized profusely.

  


“S-sorry!” he recoiled as if he had caused this woman a great inconvenience, averting his eyes and stepping back. “I… I’ll be more careful”..

  


“Not you,” the woman grumbled, still not glancing over at him. “Her. She’s wide open. Oblivious. If I were still in the game…”

  


Michael relaxed upon learning that he was  not the one that had caused offense, but he grew concerned as he took in the grumpy woman’s comments about The Dualist. Was she an ex-villain or something? Or maybe an ex-hero? He looked back at his phone and tried to quickly scan the the pictures on Blake’s follower list to see if there were any matches.    Probably wouldn’t be, but you never know. 

  


Finding nothing, he spoke with a nervous tone “o-oh.” He glanced back and forth between the throng of important people surrounding the hero at the front of the stage and this irritable woman, he began to feel worried.

  


“Relax,” she said, glancing near him but not at him. “I’m not a Villain any more. Your little ceremony is safe, and so is your precious Dualist.”

  


The fact that this woman had said she was not a villain _anymore_ didn’t help him relax at all.

  


“I.. uh.. Er..” he bit his lip a moment and then tried to smile but only managed an awkward fake expression. “S.. sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” He took a step backward and continued to fiddle nervously with his keychain, trying to play it cool.  

  


“I guess that’s good then.. Right?” He chuckled nervously before continuing, “s-should I know who you are?”

  


“Absolutely not,” the girl said quickly, then took a step back. “Shit, she’s coming this way.”

  


The bundled-up ex-Villain whirled, disappearing into the crowd just as a young woman in a green coat walked up to Michael.

  


“Hi, excuse me, um… are you Blake’s friend?”

  


For a moment he didn’t even recognize her as the Hero who’d just been speaking to the crowd a few minutes ago. She didn’t have that sonorous voice, her outfit didn’t look, well… _Heroic._ But she still had the same face, the same curly brown hair as when she’d been up onstage. It was almost like it was just a trick of the lights, or the sound system, but _more_ than that, too—it was still hard to reconcile this young woman with the striking figure from earlier, and if that other girl hadn’t mentioned anything, Michael _still_ might not have made the connection.

  


He breathed in sharply as The Dualist addressed him. “Y-yes.. Ma’am,” he stammered nervously, fumbling with his phone. This motion caused him to accidentally press the “follow” button on the Dualist’s twitter profile along with sending a garbage filled tweet to the Hero as well.

  


The ex-villain was temporarily washed from his mind - Why was he so nervous now? He barely knew anything about this person. She was obviously a hero, but she didn’t even seem as striking in person as she did on stage. That’s what happens with everyone, right?  Maybe she had changed clothes, or shapeshifting or something. Still, this was new and she was oddly fascinating. 

  


“T-That’s right. Y-yes,” the boy stammered sheepishly. “Happy to meet you.” Wondering what to do next, he intended to offer her his hand to shake - but got twisted up with his phone in one hand and his keychain in the other, dropping his keys on the ground.     He ducked his head a bit with embarrassment “sorry…”

  


“Wh—’ma’am’?” she stammered, kneeling down to help him get his keys. “I’m not—I’m not a ‘ma’am’! I’m just… I’m Amy, okay? My girlfriend said I should say hi?” She found the keys first, plucking them up off the ground and holding them out to him as she stood up.

  


His eyes widened once more “I… I’m so-sorry I didn’t mean to cause offense. A-Amy.”  
  
His face contorted in embarrassment, he was getting it all wrong today.  Bad first impressions, he really had not gotten used to this whole social thing.  

  


He reached out to take the keys from her, and stared at them, avoiding eye contact. “I’m not really used to dealing with people that much.” He glanced up momentarily to see her expression before continuing “this is all kind of new to me.”

  


“So, Blake is your girlfriend then?” he said, looking towards her still consciously avoiding looking directly in her eyes.

  


“Yeah, um, I mean, we haven’t been dating long or anything? And you didn’t offend me, promise. I’m just… you said you’re not used to dealing with people? I’m not really used to this whole… ‘Hero’ thing, um… sorry, but what should I call you? Blake didn’t tell me your name.”

  


“Yeah” he began, stepping forward,  voice dropping to a near whisper so that only she could hear “I.. Have this... thing... and it makes it hard to deal with other people.  So I mainly stay inside by myself.” He frowned for a moment, but then brightened. “But now maybe I can change that, I don’t know..” he shrugged.

  


Once again, he had been asked his name, and this was always hard to answer. His name was his father’s name, and it had been drilled into him that it was a thing that he had to carry. It held meaning, and it was representative of his father through and through. But it was more than that and he couldn’t quite put his finger on the reasons why. It just felt wrong.

  


Before he could speak up again, Amy added quietly, dropping her voice to match his, “You don’t have to give me your name if you want. I just wanna know what I should call you, and it doesn’t have to be your name.”

  


He stole a quick glance at at her and smiled in her direction. “Wow, you are all so nice to me. I dunno, I kinda want a new one in some ways.” He was lost in thought for a moment trying to decide what to say.  “Hmmm”, his face shifted into an expression that obviously indicated he was making a decision, and Amy waited patiently for him, looking at him curiously but not interrupting.  
  


“I… I think for now you can call me M-Michael.” His voice picked up with incredible speed “But I am totally going to change that in the future, probably soon, I dunno, I just need to pick the right thing….” A deep breath  followed the burst of words, and he stole a quick glanced at the hero once more.

  


“That’s—it’s nice to meet you, Michael,” Amy said, still smiling, still with that same warm, friendly tone, but there was… something in her voice? Some tightness that wasn’t there before—

  


And then she looked back at him, and their eyes met.

  


All of a sudden, Michael felt a terrifyingly strong wave of emotion wash over him; fear, self-loathing, depression, and underneath it all a desperate, powerful longing. The boy let out a brief whimper as these new emotions flooded through him, he took in a quick breath as he struggled.   He wanted to run, but he also _wanted_ \-- but what, her? Amy? That couldn’t be right, but it was there… He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

  


“Michael, what—what’s going on?” Amy asked nervously, her voice sliding towards panic, but… there was something _else_ different about her voice, too. “Did—wait, did I do this to—what’s wrong, Michael? I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, are—are you okay?”

  


When Michael opened his eyes again, it was to see tears on her face—but, wait, no, there was something else. Amy… didn’t quite look like Amy anymore? Or, well, she did, he supposed, but she didn’t look like _she_ anymore.

  


Standing in front of him was a young man not much older than him, his curly hair loose and framing his olive-toned face, tears streaking down over stubble, looking like he was about to wilt from embarrassment or perhaps shame.

  


Reflexively, he tried to control his breaths, but it wasn’t working. Many of these sensations were outside his realm of experience. As he struggled to process. It was only Amy’s question that brought him back around to the realization of what had happened.  And he spoke, voice trembling “I’m… so.. Sorry… I can’t control this,“ he said, stumbling over each word. “I-I took your pain, and gave you mine.”  
  


He began “I’m sorry.. You feel this way…. I’ll hold it for you...” and as he focused upon the young man standing in front of him now, confusion was added to the emotional mix. “You.. changed? I am so sorry...” - the internal struggle was going on, but he knew that he had to hold it together. He was unsure how long he could hold out.       
  
He offered a trembling hand toward the one standing in front of him, and the boy took it gratefully, giving it a squeeze. “Blake… did mention that you were coming to terms with being a para,” he ground out, before taking a deep, shuddering breath and squeezing Michael’s hand again.

  


“You, ah, should probably call me Zach, for now,” he murmured after glancing down at himself for a moment.

  


Feeling the tightening grip on his hand was comforting, it helped him as he fought back the tears and he stammered; “O-okay, Zach” he said quietly as thoughts of how broken he was came to the surface, his parents telling him that he was a disappointment, that he was worthless. Thoughts of his loneliness, and longing to be wanted - by anyone at all, he did yearn. He knew that these feelings were coming from…. Zach… but that knowledge alone didn’t reduce their intensity in any way.  It seemed that if a feeling resonated with something of his own, the underlying problem was brought forth - and if there was nothing to resonate with, his mind latched onto the nearest thing that was similar.  
  


Zach looked back up at Michael nervously and asked, confirming, “You… you’re feeling like I was, a moment ago?”

  


He was shaking slightly and he nodded in answer to the question. “Yes.” he said quickly, barely a whisper, finishing through gritted teeth. “And you got mine....”

  


“Sorry!” Zach blurted reflexively, before catching himself, pressing his lips together. His grip on Michael’s hand tightened and he gave a slight tug. “Come with me, okay? This’ll be easier if you’re not around other people right now.”

  


Before Michael could ask what he meant by that, Zach was leading him off, away from the crowds at a brisk walk and to a quieter section of the sculpture garden, sitting him down on a small, ornately-carved stone bench.

  


Obediently, Michael sat on the bench next to Zach, still holding his hand. He didn’t want him to let go, it was probably the only lifeline he had at the moment to stop from experiencing a full breakdown right here. “I…” he began softly “I feel like I’m going to fall apart.” He turned and looked up at Zach, squeezing his hand tighter. “Please don’t let go.” 

  


“I won’t, Michael,” Zach said quietly, squeezing right back, resting his other hand gently on Michael’s arm as he held his gaze unflinchingly. “You’re feeling like you’re broken right now, I know. That’s mine, and I’m so sorry you have to deal with it right now, but I’m not going anywhere, okay? You _aren’t_ broken. I promise you, you aren’t. You are good and strong and I’m here with you, okay? And, ah, you’re probably also feeling…”

  


Zach swallowed and his voice dropped to a murmur. “It’s okay to want things, Michael. It’s okay to want them even if you know they’re not good for you. That doesn’t make you bad.”

  


With the words “want things” Michael squeezed Zach’s hand just a bit tighter. That felt a bit… off… right now. This was a new sensation… And it was confusing. 

  


Yet, Michael did feel that Zach was right— at least partially. It was easier here, alone on the bench away from the crowds. Zach’s words were very comforting, even though they were not completely true.  Michael was broken, this wasn’t all Zach. It was just that Michael was broken _too_. It was very hard to feel good, or strong. He had hurt so many other people. Maybe it wasn’t his fault, that it happened, but it happened.    But maybe he was _good_...    he did want to help all those people after all. His breathing slowed a bit. He was holding it together, even with a bit of help. So maybe he was _strong._ He relaxed a bit more -- visibly, Zach would certainly have noticed.  
  


“I… “ he began, voice picking up just a little “t-thank you Zach, you are so kind to me, and I don’t know that I deserve it.” he paused and let out a sigh “yet.. “ He broke Zach’s gaze for a moment to look at their intertwined hands before speaking again “I’ve hurt people with this.. and I want to make it right.” he brought his watery blue eyes up to meet Zach’s gaze once more. “And I think I might be broken, but maybe I can heal.” He tried to force a smile before biting his lip once again. “So.. this is w-what you deal with?”

  


“Sometimes,” Zach said quietly. “I’ve been healing, but it takes a long time, and I’ve had a lot of help. Michael, can I talk to you about what I’m feeling right now? What I got from you?”

  


The intensity of the transferred emotions had lessened considerably, and Michael was finding it easier to talk to Zach. He nodded “S.. Sure.. I know I took some heavy stuff from you.” He almost chuckled “I suppose you got the good end of this one” His eyes met Zach’s once more. “But yeah..”

  


“Michael, I haven’t felt dysphoria this strong since I was still in college, ”Zach said gently. “That’s why I shifted, because I only ever felt dysphoria when I—no, never mind, that’s not important. Are you getting the support you need? You feel… lonely.”

  


Michael stared at Zach blankly as he remembered his childhood, his eyes fell to the ground one again. “D.. dysphoria?”  he knew the word, obviously, and he was a quite mixed up inside. His stomach twisted a bit and he paused, gladly accepting Zach’s redirect “Yeah.. loneliness. That’s normal. “ he shook his head softly. “You see what happens when I look at people, so I can never really get close”. His eyes focused on the boy next to him again, but no.   “My parents send me to a shrink, it doesn’t help.” his expression fell “I have some friends online, sometimes…” another long sigh accompanied by a frown.  
  
He wasn’t sure if this depression was his or Zach’s, but it was really all the same.  “I want to meet people, but it always goes wrong. I’m kind of on my own.”

  


Zach smiled, and he brushed Michael’s bangs out of his face, and he gave his arm a squeeze. “Not anymore you’re not.”

  


With those words, Michaels lip began to tremble, and a tear rolled down his cheek.  
“I..” he began to speak but could not continue.. This wasn’t a tear of sadness. This was new.

  


Zach pulled him close and into a hug, tucking the other boy’s head in under his chin. “You don’t have to be alone anymore, Michael. I promise.”


End file.
